NO longer by the oak, O blackbird, sing Nor whistle, resting on its topmost spray: Oaks are your foe: come, where the vineyards spring And spread the shadow of their green and grey: Upon the branches plant your feet and so Pour forth your throaty music shrill and strong; For oak-trees bear the murderous mistletoe, But vines bear grapes -- and Bacchus loves a song. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...BIRTHDAY POEM FOR THOMAS HARDY by CECIL DAY LEWIS FICTION by GEORGIA DOUGLAS JOHNSON THE GOLDEN WEDDING OF STERLING AND SARAH LANIER by SIDNEY LANIER ANCHORED TO THE INFINITE by EDWIN MARKHAM SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: EDITH CONANT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |